


Kveikur

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, not a zombie story i promise, of some sort, post-BotFA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Because once I make an oath, I am bound by my words, and will not be able to go back on it. I will have them wake before you this very instant, if you agree.</i>
</p><p>  <i>Your dwarves, for the ring."</i></p><p>In which a terrible bargain is struck, the dead do not stay dead, and the next great battle for Middle Earth begins barely after the last one ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse me while I go make an attempt at a post-BOTFA fix-it (that's not really but maybe it is). I just hope this doesn't blow up in my face. I haven't written fic in so long, but [daisy](http://twitter.com/ecthelions) is an enabler, and my proofreader, and I love her.

It had gone quiet, the noises of the battle fading as their enemies fell back, but Bilbo's ears were still ringing. Distantly he heard the victorious screech of Eagles, the bellow of men, elves, and dwarves that survived and amazingly above it all, Beorn's great roar. Tear tracks were drying on his cheeks from the frigid air, making his face sticky and rather itchy, but oh, what does it matter now? The mountain was secure, but what does it _matter_ when Thorin was lying here d --

He forced his stiff hands to move, lifting them slowly as if under his skin were heavy rocks, not flesh. Gently, he slid Thorin's eyes closed, and felt only numbness when the blue of his irises disappeared under the lids. It had hurt, before, when the dwarf said his farewells and his last breath left his lips, but now only a hollow feeling filled Bilbo's chest. He brushed back Thorin's hair from his face, clumsy fingers tangling in his braids, and smiled faintly at a similar memory from a happier time. In Laketown, with the Company in a better mood and better fed than they had been in a long time, Thorin had been the only one to notice Bilbo's silent curiosity of the dwarves' hair and beards.

He had his eyes closed then as well, as they sat away from the Company and Bilbo ran fingers through his dark hair, marveling. Nobody in the Shire grew their hair longer than shoulder-length except the ladies, and even them they kept it pinned up and away from their faces. Thorin had hummed, sounding very much content, and Bilbo, feeling suddenly bold, moved his hand down to feel his beard. Then Thorin's eyes had snapped open, intense gaze focusing on Bilbo. But Bilbo did not remove his hand, instead digging his fingers deeper, finding the strong curve of the dwarf's jaw. He found that he could not look away, and something in Thorin's expression shifted into something gentle.

Bilbo swore there was a moment where everything else seemed to fall away, until Thorin gave a little jerk of his head and a surprised, slightly pained 'ah'. Startled, Bilbo pulled back to find that his hand had wandered back to Thorin's hair, and was getting tangled in the braids. Thorin had huffed in laughter, eyes twinkling with mirth as Bilbo turned red and apologised profusely.

Maybe, if Bilbo ignored the chill seeping through his clothes and the absence of breath in Thorin's chest, he could pretend that any moment now, Thorin would open his eyes and smile at Bilbo, gently untangling Bilbo's hand from the knots in his hair as he did then.

There were footsteps behind him, followed by a broken, wretched sound. He looked back to see Dwalin's weapons fall from limp hands, anguish in his face as he saw Thorin. To think that the tough old dwarf would ever stumble and stutter! The Bilbo of some weeks ago would laugh and scoff, but stumble Dwalin did now, as though his knees were too weak to carry him and he collapsed to his knees on the other side of Thorin's body, mouth opening and closing without words. There were tears shining in the old warrior's eyes, and no, Bilbo couldn't watch this, so he quietly withdrew.

He made his way across the ice, slipping a little just as the first of Dwalin's sobs reached his ears. Bilbo walked faster, not bothering to be silent as his bare feet slapped against the frozen water.

He didn't mean to, but he stumbled upon Fili's body, still lying where Azog had dropped him. Bilbo thought that he was beyond grief, but at the sight of Fili's blank, slack face, a fresh wave of despair threatened to overwhelm him. He covered his mouth with a hand to choke off a sob, and knelt down beside the body.

Oh to be young, Bilbo had thought once, as he watched Fili and his brother make merry around the campfire near the beginning of their journey. To be so full of life, and free of all the burden that came with age. To be reckless, and brave, and full of love for the world. It seemed fitting, somehow, that Fili should die with all that youth inside him, to be young forever. But it wasn't fair, nor was it right, and Bilbo would give anything to see Fili grow old and wise.

_Anything?_

Anything.

Too overcome by fresh grief, Bilbo paid no attention to the little voice in his head that did not belong to him. He slid Fili's eyes shut as he did his uncle's, and arranged his limbs so he might be sleeping.

"Oh, my poor boy," he whispered, fighting back tears as he pressed a kiss to Fili's temple, and stood as his ears picked up the cries from the Company, no doubt having found Thorin's body. It was too heavy a thing, this grief in his chest, and he did not wish for his friends to see him now, or to see the blame in their eyes because it was his fault; he had come too late with the warning.

 

 

Kili's body was brought back into the mountain by the Captain of the Elvenking's Guard, along with the Elvenking himself. Bilbo was huddled around a fire with Ori and Bifur and some of Dain's dwarves just inside Erebor's gates, and they stood up as the two approached. They took in Thranduil's grim face, and the tear tracks down his Captain's cheeks. She held a dwarf's body in her arms, clutching it close to her chest, and Bilbo's heart sank at the sight of it.

There was only one member of the Company not yet accounted for, and Bilbo had hoped -- how fiercely he had _hoped_ \--

She knelt down, laying the body on the ground, and as the dwarves swarmed her to anguish over their fallen prince, Bilbo slipped silently away.

The hobbit let his feet take him wherever as his chest throbbed painfully, walking and walking without really seeing where he was going for he was once again blinded by tears, even though he felt like he'd drained them not too long ago. He couldn't bear to see Kili so lifeless, not when in life he had been so bright and cheerful and courageous. It would be odd, to see him so still, Bilbo thought hazily. Kili could never stop moving, always darting from one place to the next with such energy just like his arrows.

Finally, Bilbo stumbled, and he collapsed into a seat, face in his hands. He rubbed at his face harshly, sorrow roiling inside him for the broken line of Durin.

 _Except it need not be broken_ , a voice said.

Bilbo startled, shooting to his feet and looking around. There was nobody there with him, and now that he looked properly, he realised that he was in one of the corridors leading to what used to be Erebor's great dining hall. This little alcove he had hidden in was where Thorin had found him, and asked him about the acorn from Beorn's. His feet had taken him to the place he and Thorin had shared one last moment of true peace and joy, and Bilbo's chest throbbed anew.

 _You could have it again_ , the voice from earlier whispered, sly and hissing. _Again and again, over many years, I could bring him back,_ we _could bring him back --_

"Who are you!?" Bilbo shouted, frantically searching for the source of the voice. But it seemed to have come from the walls itself, cackling at Bilbo's distress. Instinctively, he reached for the magic ring in his pocket, but instead of finding the metal cool to the touch, it was burning, searing his skin, and he still felt it even as he snatched his hand away. He stared at the glint of it peeking from his pocket, bewildered.

 _Wouldn't you like that, little hobbit?_ the voice said again. _I can bring your dwarf king back, it won't be too difficult for me, you know._

Bilbo shivered, despite the air being static down here. "You can't! He is dead!" he shouted to the room, even though it hurt to say it out loud that Thorin was gone. "He is dead and there is nothing more to be done! Who are you!?"

 _You are wrong, little hobbit,_ the voice crooned. _I can snatch him from Aule's halls, and return him to his body, simple as that._

"And what of his nephews?" Bilbo asked in a shaky voice after a moment of contemplation. "Say that I -- that I believe you. Will you bring them back as well?"

_If you like._

Bilbo relaxed his posture, though he stayed wary of his surroundings, still searching for the voice, and constantly aware of the heat from the ring through the fabric of his clothes. Could it really be possible? Could Thorin, Fili and Kili really be brought back from the dead? He had never heard of such things being possible.

But Bilbo was weary and desperate and sad, and already he missed the Durins something fierce, the ache in his heart too much for him to handle. Surely there would be no harm in trying?

_What do you think, hobbit? If not to ease the longing in you, surely you must see that the dwarves of Erebor needs their king and his heirs. Will you deny them this?_

Bilbo exhaled, all fight finally leaving him.

"Who are you?" he asked again, quieter this time.

_Who I am is of no importance._

Suspicious, Bilbo thought absently, but he was suddenly overcome by exhaustion, and felt like he could fall asleep right then and there. He sat back down on the bench, rubbing his temples.

"And if I were to accept your proposition, what would be the price?" he asked. Even when extremely tired, he knew that something this amazing, this fantastical, could not possibly come freely.

 _Nothing much_ , the voice whispered, slithering over the stones, almost crooning. _Only that you deliver that little ring in your pocket to me --_

Immediately, Bilbo snapped aware, and he clutched his pocket protectively. Panic flooded his veins as the heat from the ring seeped to his skin. He looked around wildly, but still, nothing came forth. His heart thundered in his ears, and all he could think of was that he must keep the ring safe, keep it from this creature, whatever it was. It was _his_ , his _precious_ \--

"Then you can take your deal somewhere else, because I am not giving up this ring," Bilbo snapped, and stormed away from the corridor.

 

 

Thorin, Fili and Kili were to be buried the following evening, in the deep halls where their ancestors were buried. The dragon had never reached these rooms it seemed, for the air was free of Smaug's stink, if a little musty.

The funeral was open to all who would attend, but this morning was for the remaining eleven members of the Company only, as they gathered around the three raised dais, paying their last respects. The cavernous halls were silent; they did not need to hear of Thorin, Fili and Kili's deeds, for they had seen for themselves the Durins' courage and strength and kindness. So they prayed silently, hands clasped to their chests, heads bowed. There were tears shining in some of their eyes, but Bilbo's were dry, finally spent. The Company lowered their hands at almost the same time, and one by one they left, patting each other's shoulders in shared grief.

Until finally it was only Bilbo and Balin left sitting on a bench by the wall, the two of them wistfully staring at the still bodies. They chatted about the journey to Erebor, little anecdotes about Thorin, Fili and Kili, and drawing nostalgic chuckles from each other. The old dwarf especially had much to tell of the king and his heirs' childhood, being there to witness it all.

When Bilbo told him of his plan to return right away and not attend the funeral, Balin's eyes widened, and Bilbo noticed with some guilt that he had made him sadder.

"But you can't leave! Surely not before we bury them!" Balin insisted, but Bilbo smiled wryly.

"I'm sorry, Balin, but I really should be heading back, before the winter really sets in," he murmured, twiddling his thumbs. "Moreover, I can't stay for the funeral. They will talk about Thorin, and I can't -- I don't think I can bring myself to listen to it all."

The quiet admittance brought worry to the old dwarf's eyes, and he laid a gentle hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "And why is that?" he asked kindly.

The hobbit averted his eyes, choosing to look at his hands instead. "Because they will talk about how great a king Thorin was, even in exile, how he had brought his people back to their feet, how he led the Company across perils to the mountain and took it back. They will talk about his bravery, his wisdom, and leadership, and -- and I'm not saying that he was not a great king and leader, because he was. He's just --" Bilbo stopped, rubbing his face in frustration. "But what no one else will ever really know is how stubborn he was, how loyal to a fault, how he was the one that bound us together throughout the journey. How his scowl seemed to be able to summon thunderstorms, and how his smile was -- was like the sun breaking through clouds. How gentle he could be when he wanted to, how soft-spoken. They see Thorin and they see a king, a hardened warrior, and will know nothing more. But to me, he was more than that, and I couldn't bear to hear anything less. To me, he was ---"

Bilbo had meant to say _friend_ , but the word died in his throat, fading to nothing because was that even the right term for what Thorin was to him? He looked up to Balin's expectant face, swallowing hard.

"He was my, my --"

How could he describe how safe, steady, _happy_ Thorin made him feel? In the beginning, Bilbo had feared him, and felt intimidated, but it eventually faded. Of course at times he felt frustrated with the dwarf, and annoyed and irritated; but the peace and contentment he felt at Thorin's side was nothing trivial. It was real and true, and dare he name this? Dare he say it aloud, when Thorin was lying dead upon cold stone?

But Balin saved him from having to explain, patting Bilbo's shoulder with understanding in his eyes. They were silent for a moment, before Bilbo snorted and huffed a laugh.

"And oh, how could I listen about Fili and Kili's virtues when we know that more often than not they caused the rest of us trouble?" he remarked, and Balin chuckled.

"Well, I can't say I deny that one, laddie," he sighed, and heaved himself up. "I must go now, to see to Dain and our Men and Elven guests before another feud breaks out between them. And Bilbo, come find me before you leave; I'll make sure that you're stocked with supplies for the journey home."

Bilbo nodded gratefully, and Balin shot him a quick smile before patting his shoulder once again and leaving the hall.

Balin's footsteps faded in the distance, and Bilbo was once again left in the silence. He sighed to himself, and stared at the soles of the three pairs of boots ahead, the only parts of Thorin, Fili and Kili he could see from where he was sitting. He knew that spending time here was not good for him, that it would be best for him to be off immediately, but he couldn't find it in him to get up and leave. The bodies would be here until the funeral later this evening, and if he left them alone, what kind of companion would that make him?

Later, then, he thought to himself. The Shire wasn't going anywhere, it could wait.

_You needn't despair so, hobbit._

Bilbo closed his eyes, shoulders sagging. Even here, in this deep, dark hall beneath the mountain with only the dead for company the voice could still find him. Where it came from Bilbo knew not, and he feared that he might be starting to lose his mind.

 _Oh, it's not you, believe me,_ the voice spoke again.

"What do you want?" Bilbo asked wearily.

_You know what I want. And what I can give you in return._

He gritted his teeth, struggling to keep his calm. The ring in his pocket was once again warm.

"If you could speak to me, you must know where I am. Why not just take it from me? Why strike a bargain for it?" Bilbo challenged.

 _Clever hobbit,_ the voice said, and Bilbo shivered at the hissing in his ears. _If only I could, I would. Alas, it could not be that simple. But this way, we both get what we want, no?_

"How do I know you're capable of it?" Bilbo asked, standing up to pace around the room. "How do I know this is not some mean trick?"

_Because once I make an oath, I am bound by my words, and will not be able to go back on it. I will have them wake before you this very instant, if you agree._

_Your dwarves, for the ring._

Terrible, terrible hope blossomed in Bilbo's chest. Could it be that easy?

But the ring…

 _The dwarves need their king_ , the voice continued, seeming to grow louder in his ears. _I ask again: will you deny them this when it is in your power to bring him back? Did you not say that you will give anything to see his nephews alive again? Besides, I have seen your heart, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. Will you deny your_ heart _this one chance at happiness? I have seen your feelings for him, how you yearn --_

"Stop!" Bilbo shouted, stumbling to hold onto the edge of the dais where Thorin lay. "Stop, please." His voice cracked on the last word, and the voice became blissfully silent. Bilbo trembled from head to foot, raising his head to look at Thorin's peaceful face.

Oh, how fiercely Bilbo missed him. But would it be right, to wrench him from the peacefulness of death and back to suffering in the land of the living? He switched his gaze to Fili's pale face, then Kili's, warring with his desires. Would it be fair?

 _Fair question,_ the voice admitted, and Bilbo's face scrunched up in distaste. _Though we wouldn't know until we try, wouldn't we?_

No, Bilbo thought. No indeed.

Bilbo's shoulders sagged, and with a weary exhale he leaned his head down to press his forehead against Thorin's cold temple. Forgive me if I wronged you with this, Thorin, Fili and Kili, Bilbo thought. For I am just a little hobbit, and my heart is a weak thing.

Finally, he stood up straight, and squared his shoulders. The ring was a small price to pay for the return of the king and his heirs, Bilbo told himself sternly, even though a large part of him still begged and screamed at the thought of parting with it.

"Very well," Bilbo said, in as steady voice as he could muster. "I accept your deal."

All at once there was a feeling of something like cold water travelling down inside his body. Bilbo shivered at the sensation, but then it was gone as quick as it came, and he was left standing there, feeling very confused. He was about to ask the voice what just happened when he remembered that it had promised to bring the dead dwarves back right away. He startled, and rushed back to stand by Thorin's body, searching his face for any signs of life.

There were none, and Bilbo ran to Kili's side, then Fili's, to do the same. They were all still as unmoving as before, and the hope in Bilbo's chest shattered. He dragged his feet back to Thorin's side, tears stinging in his eyes. It was like losing them all over again. He slipped his hand into Thorin's cold one, searching for a pulse in a wrist that held none. He should have known better, should have known that it was impossible. Stupid Bilbo Baggins, he berated himself. Where did you put your Baggins sensibilities? Why believe the words of a bodiless voice --

Bilbo paused his inner rant to stare at his hand holding Thorin's. Was it just him, or was Thorin's skin a tad warmer than it was before? The hobbit gasped, gripping the hand tighter and trapping it between both of his, for it was clear that colour was returning to the pale skin.

His knees felt weak but he made himself walk over to Fili and Kili's sides, to find that the same thing had happened to them. He wept again as after a moment a tiny beat pulsed in Fili's wrist, and Kili's chest started to move very shallowly, but he was breathing again nonetheless. When he returned to Thorin, his hands were almost as warm as Bilbo's own, undeniably filled with life once more.

And then, with a great rattling sound in his lungs, Thorin took his first breath.

\---

**_Þú kveikir mig  
Þú kveikir mig_ **

(you ignite me  
you ignite me)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just say beforehand that this fic is more or less a stab in the dark for me. I have a general idea of the things that will be happening, but not really anything...specific...
> 
> Please bear with me.

Thorin awoke in a long, long corridor of smooth, light gray stones. He felt as if he had been sleeping for a few days, but then looked around to find that he had been standing the whole time. He held out his hands in front of him to inspect them, finding them smooth and unblemished, and felt his face and body for wounds. There was nothing. He was wearing a simple tunic and breeches, with plain leather boots on his feet. No other adornments were on him, not even the silver clasps at the end of his braids that were always there since childhood, and his hair was unbound.

Quite suddenly, Thorin knew in his heart that he was dead.

He couldn't help the slight bitterness he felt at the thought of not living to see Erebor restored, after all his efforts in getting it back. At all those dwarves and elves and men that fell during the battle, for in his death Thorin realised that all lives need to be cherished, no matter their race. He felt worried and sad at having to leave the kingdom to Kili's hands, but also knowing that the boy would be good ruler. He only wished he had said goodbye, to him and the rest of the Company.

But Thorin's biggest regret during the last moments of his life was to Bilbo. Kind, brave Bilbo, whom he had led to such dangers throughout the journey, but continued to help and stay with the Company anyway. How easily his burglar had forgiven him! Even though Thorin could not be sure if he could ever forgive himself for how he had treated Bilbo, and for putting tears in his eyes and sadness in his heart in the end with his death. Though soft and gentle he seemed, Thorin knew the hobbit's heart was strong and stubborn; and though it pained him to think of it, he knew that Bilbo would go home, get over his sorrows, perhaps also forget Thorin, and return to his peaceful life.

He only wished...

There is nothing more to be done now, Thorin reminded himself sternly. He was dead and Bilbo was out of reach, and not a mountain of gold can amend it.

There was light at the end of the corridor, Thorin noticed, but he could not see what was beyond. It beckoned to him, warm and welcoming, amber like the fires of forges that Thorin loved. He could hear strains of merry music and faint laughter drifting from that direction, and his heart swelled with longing. The halls of his ancestors. Mahal's halls of waiting.

He looked back, and saw only darkness on the other end of the corridor. There is nothing there, he thought, and so faced the golden light again. He would see his father and mother again, his grandfather, grandmother, and Frerin. The brother he had lost so long ago but never had Thorin gone a day without missing him. And, oh, Fili would be there too. His brave little Fili, gone before his time but at least he would also be at peace.

Thorin started walking towards the light. With every step he took it felt as if one by one, worldly burdens were removed from his shoulders, leaving him lighter, and a broad smile lit up his face. He was free, he was at peace, and he could rest at last.

He didn't know when or how it started, but his steps began to slow down, as if weights were chained to his ankles. Thorin frowned at the accompanying feeling of tightness in his chest; it felt like his torso was wrapped tightly with a sheet, hindering his movements.

Is this a test? Thorin thought. To determine whether he was fit for his ancestor's halls, or to be pulled back to the darkness at the other end of the corridor, whatever it was. A lump formed in his throat; were his sins that unforgivable, that he could not find peace even in death? He kept walking anyway, gritting his teeth even as his steps grew heavier, desperately trying to reach for the light.

After what felt like forever in this way, Thorin felt a tug backwards somewhere around his abdomen. He gasped a little in surprise, lurching to a halt. The tugging grew more insistent, and panic welled up in him as he fought anew to get to the light before this… thing got him. He couldn't move forward, not anymore, and his boots squeaked against the stone floor as he was dragged backwards, inch by inch.

"No!" he gasped, and Thorin was brought to his knees by the pull, grappling at the stone floor helplessly. It couldn't be! He needed to see his family again, hold them and apologize to them, they couldn't take this from him!

He called out for Thrain and his mother, for Thror, Frerin, and even called out for Fili. But nobody came, and the light was getting smaller and smaller while the pull grew stronger. Shadows lined the walls as darkness began to surround him, and with one last desperate scream, Thorin disappeared into the inky blackness.

 

 

Bilbo couldn't keep the large grin off his face, even when tears continued to stream down his cheeks as Thorin, Fili and Kili's breaths deepened and steadied. But they were tears of relief and gladness, and he kept moving between the three dais to watch life return to the dwarves. His joy was so vast it made his legs feel weak, so with a tired smile he leaned against Fili's tomb slab, fondly watching the prince's sleeping face.

It was truly a miracle, and he really should go tell the others now, even though he didn't want to miss seeing Thorin, Fili and Kili open their eyes and wake.

_No!_ the voice snapped suddenly. Bilbo jumped, wincing at how terribly loud it was until his poor head throbbed.

"And why not?" the hobbit asked, a little irritated himself.

_They will demand explanations, and what will you say?_ it said, softer this time, but still with a hint of anger. _If they find out about the ring, they will try to take it from you, and you have promised it to me. You have seen for yourself the dwarves' greed for gold._

Bilbo opened his mouth, about to protest until he remembered that all the dwarves had been affected by the gold-sickness, even if to different extents. Not to mention this ring was magic as well. It wasn't a risk worth taking. "I suppose you are right," he admitted. "What must I do?"

_Slip away. No one must know. Bring the ring to me this instant and fulfil your end of the bargain._

Something ugly and possessive reared its ugly head inside Bilbo, but he tamped it down annoyedly. "Can't I -- can't we wait until I see them wake first?" he asked instead.

_They will stop you too, you know this to be true,_ it hissed.

"Fine," Bilbo snapped. "Fine, fine. Where are you exactly then?"

_A question I cannot answer. But,_ it paused, and Bilbo felt dread creep up his spine. _The Morannon. The Black Gate of Mordor. Take it there, and my, ah, servants will receive it for me._

He felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped down his back, and a cold hand was gripping his heart in his chest. "M - Mordor?" Bilbo squeaked, feeling very afraid. "Who are you!? Answer me!"

_I shan't,_ the voice almost sing-songed, and after a short pause continued with a chillier tone. Bilbo noted uneasily that the temperature in the room seemed to have dropped. _But know this, hobbit: that should you fail this errand, should the ring never come to me, I could very easily take your_ precious _dwarves away again, for I still have hold over their souls._

Terror at losing his friends again seized him, and Bilbo nodded frantically, not trusting his voice to speak.

_Good,_ the voice murmured, volume fading now that the matter was resolved. _Off you go, then._

Bilbo slid to the floor once the voice was gone, breathing heavily and hands shaking. Mordor. He had to go to _Mordor_ , and immediately. Loathe he was to admit it, but the voice had a point. If any of his friends knew about this, they would try to stop him; if not for the ring, then for Bilbo's own safety. He knew they cared for him that much, but he could not let the Durins die _again_.

He looked up at the sleeping dwarves, the terror in his heart slowly quieting with each breath that they took. It would be okay. He could do this.

The hobbit pulled himself up, though his legs still felt quite weak. The shaking in his hands had stopped, though, and with a sad little smile he approached Fili's body.

"I would quite like to see you wake, but I can't, and I am sorry for that," Bilbo said to him quietly, stroking his blond hair back. There was no response, but Bilbo didn't think he'd get one so soon anyway. He moved towards Kili then, also combing his fingers through the young dwarf's hair and noting bemusedly that the dark locks were as unruly as ever. "I promise I will be back before you know it, though."

Then he turned to Thorin, and paused to swallow past the lump in his throat. With a tight feeling in his chest he approached Thorin's still form, and placed his hand on top of the king's. It was warm, and alive, and Bilbo could have wept again.

"I will be back," he whispered, voice cracking. His thumb rubbed circles over Thorin's skin, and Bilbo found that he was reluctant to pull away. As he stared at Thorin's peaceful face, some feeling in his chest fought to be free, clawed up his throat, and rested on the tip of his tongue. Bilbo locked his jaw shut, afraid that if he opened his mouth, its name will escape. He couldn't have that, not when there was still a chance of him not making it back at all despite his promise, not when Thorin couldn't possibly --

A reckless feeling overcame him, and he gave in to it without much fight, knowing that this could perhaps be the last time he saw Thorin if his destination was Mordor.

Bilbo pushed himself to his tiptoes, and touched his lips gently to Thorin's.

Just a quick brush, and Bilbo was pulling away again. The tightening in his chest was unbearable, heart beating a fast pace against his ribcage. Without looking away from Thorin's face, he reached for the dwarf's hand and allowed himself to draw strength from that warmth, squeezing gently.

Then he was off, slipping away as fast as his silent feet could carry him.

 

 

The first thing Thorin noticed was the smell of earth and rocks, so pure and untainted by any other he must be very deep underground. The scent calmed him, lulled him into a sense of security he only ever felt in his grandmother's arms, when he was a little dwarfling. Then, as consciousness returned to him, he became aware that he was lying upon some flat stone, cold and unforgiving under his touch, yet all the more comforting for it. Distantly, he knew the stone would not be kind to his poor back, but he was too comfortable to move.

But then he heard the sobs.

Kili's sobs, to be precise. He hadn't heard his nephew cry so wretchedly in decades; he shed tears often enough, but never so loudly, never so broken and anguished.

Which begged the question: wasn't he dead?

The thought alarmed Thorin more than the sound of his younger nephew crying did. Was he not dead, after all? Or was it the other way around, that Kili had died with them? With a jolt, Thorin snapped his eyes open, and immediately regretted it, for he was suddenly aware of the _pain_.

His body felt stiff and aching all over, like he had been dashed against rocks over and over again. But the source of the throbbing pain was the area where he had let Azog stab him, and with a quiet groan he pressed a hand to it. However there was no blood, no redness seeping through his layers of clothes, and he stared at his clean hands wonderingly.

Putting aside his questions for now, with tremendous effort Thorin turned his head to the right, and what he saw made his heart leap to his throat.

Fili was sitting up on a raised dais of stone. Fili, whom Thorin had seen stabbed through the chest and the light go out of his bright eyes, whose body had been thrown so carelessly aside. Thorin would never forget the sickening sound Fili's lifeless body hitting the ice but here he sat now, alive, if a little pale.

Kili was less standing more slumped against his brother, face buried in Fili's stomach and arms around him, clutching tightly. The younger dwarf's shoulders were shaking, his sobs so loud and pitiful Thorin felt his heart shatter. Fili's hands were stroking through Kili's dark locks, lips moving, and it took Thorin a moment to realize what he was saying.

"I'm here," the older prince murmured, tears flowing free from his eyes and dripping down his long nose to Kili's hair. "I'm here, I won't leave again. It's okay, It's alright now, Kee."

A broken sound wrenched free from Thorin's throat, prompting Fili to look up and pause. The king forced his body to move, to obey, and with the clumsiness of a newborn calf he slid down to the floor and stumbled towards his nephews. Kili also looked up, but was still reluctant to let go of his brother, though his eyes shone with fresh tears at the sight of Thorin.

Thorin raised his hands, hesitating just before they touched Fili. He searched the young dwarf's pale blue eyes so alike his own for any tricks, lest this was some cruel prank played on him. But he found none, and it was Fili who moved forward, slotting his face between Thorin's hands. The king felt tears spill from his eyes, blurring his vision but still he pulled his nephew forward to press their foreheads together, reveling in the warmth, the steady pulse in the boy's neck under his hands.

" _Nidoyel_ ," he whispered, voice breaking at the end of the word. After a moment he more felt than see his younger nephew slide under his arms, and Thorin pulled the brothers into a tight embrace, fierce love for the both of them raging in his chest. Kili sobbed endlessly while his brother laughed at him even as tears streamed down his cheeks, and Thorin could not get the broad smile off his face, though his facial muscles ached.

They quieted, after a while, and the silence was only broken by Kili's occasional hiccups. Thorin softly stroked both his nephew's heads that were leaning against his chest, just like when they were dwarflings who still needed his presence to fall asleep. The pain from earlier still throbbed, but they were dulled by the peace he felt.

"Thorin," Kili muttered quietly after a while. "Are we, are we dead?"

The question brought a pause to Thorin's movements, and he pulled back to stare at his younger nephew worriedly.

"No," he answered, but he wasn't sure of it either. "I did not die after all, did I? And Fili as well, if you are here with us?"

"No!" Kili said, shaking his head. "No, I _died_ , Thorin, I'm sure I did!"

"Me too," Fili chipped in quietly.

"As did I," Thorin muttered. Then his eyes widened in realization, and he stared at Kili in horror. "What do you mean, you _died_?"

"What do you mean, _you_ died!?" the brothers said at the same time, before Fili turned to his brother, eyes widening. "Kili _died_?" he all but shouted.

Kili opened his mouth to retort but Thorin held up a hand, shushing him as he looked around the cavern properly for the first time.

"Wait, I know this room," he breathed, searching through his mind for where they could possibly be. The cavern was large and had extremely high ceilings, as most rooms in Erebor were. The walls were carved with dwarven patterns, veins of gold running through them. With a realization Thorin gasped, and he looked down to the slab of rock he had been sleeping on.

It was no ordinary slab of rock after all, but a stone coffin, where a body will lay after the funeral ceremonies. The lid was fitted so perfectly the seam was difficult to see, but now that he knew where to look, Thorin ran his fingers across it slowly, something cold settling in his bones. There were three of them, and no doubt the one to his left was where Kili had lain.

"Thorin?" Fili called softly, and he swallowed hard before turning to his nephews.

"I think --" he started, voice hoarse, so he cleared his throat before trying again. "I think… we did die. We _were_ dead. This place is the royal tomb."

Silence fell upon the three, a heavy, oppressive one. They looked at each other, the king and the princes, feeling beyond bewildered.

"But we're not _now_?" Kili asked tentatively.

Thorin shook his head, confused. He did not know what this meant, only that it confirmed Kili's earlier statement that _he_ had died as well. Then he remembered the gray stone corridor, the light and warmth and laughter at the end of it, and the feeling of being pulled _back_. Thorin's breath hitched in his throat, and he whipped around to speak to his nephews before his ears caught the sound of footsteps approaching. The dwarves tensed, looking to the entrance of the cavern warily.

Balin entered, looking older and more tired than the last time Thorin had seen him. He was slightly limping, but he was not in armour and his clothes were clean and lavish enough for a ceremony. He did not seem to notice the supposedly-dead-dwarves staring at him as he puttered around to light a torch, until Kili enthusiastically shouted, "Balin!".

The old dwarf startled, and looked around. He caught sight of Thorin standing wide-eyed, Fili sitting up with a grin, and Kili waving eagerly at him, before dropping the lantern he had been holding in shock.

 

 

The Mountain was abuzz, alive with activity and chatter where before the mood had been sombre and sad. _The King is alive!_ they whispered, those dwarvish soldiers gossipping like their dams in a market. _King Thorin is alive!_

No one knew who began the rumours, but they spread like wildfire upon the camp. It was to be expected, perhaps, for those soldiers were tired and injured and had lost many of their kin in the battle, and such news raised their spirits, even a little. Some said he came back from the dead, his fiery spirit could not be put to rest; some said he never died to begin with and it was just a mistake; some did not believe the rumours to be true at all, that King Thorin was indeed lying dead in the deeps of the Mountain like what had been announced. There were even rumours that his heirs were alive as well, even though everyone had seen the princes' bodies being carried into the mountain.

But nobody was sure where the truth in all this was, for even the most absurd rumours held a grain of truth in them. The more hopeful dwarves would get up and race to the Royal Wing, eager to see for himself if it was true, but there their way would be barred by a couple of members of Thorin Oakenshield's Company, and they would be sternly told to turn back.

And in his old chambers - hurriedly cleaned and aired - Thorin sat on the bed propped up against many pillows, his nephews sitting on either side of him. They refused to be separated after they were brought here, and even Thorin who had never explicitly shown affection towards his grown nephews in public gathered Fili and Kili to him and glared at Oin when he dared to suggest it. The rest of his Company along with Dain his cousin gathered around the bed, after Oin had declared the three to be hale and healthy, only a little shaken, much to the old healer's bewilderment.

"What happened, Thorin?" Bofur asked, nervously twisting his hat in his hands. There was a deep gash along his left cheek, no doubt a souvenir of the battle, but otherwise he looked fine.

"We were dead," Kili shrugged, and the Company winced. "That much we know for certain. As for how we woke up again… well…"

The young prince gave another shrug, and Fili continued. "We were hoping someone might be able to tell us, because I'm pretty sure I saw Mahal's halls of waiting before I was wrenched back."

"What was it like?" Ori breathed, awe and terror evident on his face.

Kili opened his mouth, no doubt to enthusiastically describe what he, Fili, and Thorin saw, before there was a commotion outside. They heard raised voices and heated arguments just beyond the door, and Dori and Bofur made to guard it but it burst open, revealing a wide eyed Gandalf and a haggard Dwalin and Nori trailing behind him. His gray eyes found Thorin's, then Fili's, then Kili's, growing rounder and more astonished by the second.

"Thorin Oakenshield," he said wonderingly as he crossed the room. "And Fili and Kili! In all my years, I'd never --"

Thorin rarely ever saw the wizard surprised or at a loss, but he was doing both now, even though his surprise quickly changed to a troubled expression. Gandalf stopped at the foot of the bed, eyeing the three while tapping a nervous rhythm on his staff.

"Is something the matter? Are you not glad to see us alive and well?" Thorin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gandalf shook his head, but the frown on his face did not disappear. "Of course I am happy you are alive, Thorin, and your nephews as well! It's just that I am sure you were, well, dead. How did this happen?"

"Glad you finally decided join in on our discussion," Thorin remarked dryly. "None of us have a clue. But I was told by Balin that our hobbit was the last to see us before we woke, yet he was not there when we did. In fact, where is he now? He might know something."

He had looked around hopefully for that head of curly hair amongst the Company as he was brought here, but to his disappointment found the hobbit missing. Perhaps he had not yet heard of Thorin's awakening, which was strange in and of itself, for surely Bilbo would be the first to hear of such things, and race to their sides.

"Yes, where is dear Bilbo?" Gandalf asked the room at large, casting his eyes around. "I have not seen him since the battle ended. Is he alright?"

The occupants of the room looked at each other uneasily. All of them had seen Bilbo last in the royal tombs, and not since. It was Balin who sighed, and rubbed his temples wearily.

"Balin, do you know where he is?" Thorin asked, worry beginning to grow in his mind for the missing member of their Company. The old dwarf nodded his head a little, expression apologetic.

"He may be on his way home already, Thorin," Balin answered, and Thorin tried to not show in his face the way his heart sank at those words. "He told me he will not - could not - attend your funeral ceremonies, you see. Although I _did_ tell him to find me for supplies first."

"Send a runner, he must not have gotten far, there are still many - many things I still need to apologize for." Thorin's voice quietened near the end, and Kili patted his back comfortingly.

The wizard, however, huffed and looked distressed as he stopped Nori from fetching a guard. "No, he cannot have gone yet, because I have been sitting idly just outside Dale all day! I would have seen anybody heading west. Besides, Mr Baggins and I have arranged to make the journey back together, he would not change his plans without telling me."

The room fell into silence. The tension in the chamber was thick, nobody daring to speak a word. Thorin could not think clearly past the thunder of blood in his ears, the anxious feeling for their burglar overriding any other thoughts. Oh, he should be here, fussing over the three of them as he always did, the only one who would dare to speak to the King Under the Mountain like he was a naughty child that had made him worry overmuch. How he missed his hobbit, his easy smiles, companionship, and the way he could always lighten the darkest of Thorin's moods.

"Unless," Fili said from beside him. His hands fisted in the sheets, and an impressive frown marred his features. "Unless he is not going _west_."

"Where else would he go?" Dwalin scoffed, but Thorin could hear worry in his voice as well. "He might not have left the Mountain at all."

"Search for him," Thorin barked, and some of the dwarves startled at his sharp tone. "Look everywhere in the Mountain. Find Bilbo."

They hastened to obey, leaving the chamber until only he, Fili, Kili, Dain, Balin, and Gandalf remained. His cousin gave a great sigh and dropped to the seat beside the bed, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

"I'm sure the Halfling's fine, Thorin," he said, tweaking the tusks on his beard absently. "He probably got lost in a corridor or something. You know how confusing our architecture can be to non-dwarves."

Thorin rubbed his face roughly, feeling exhausted, but knowing that if he tried, he would be unable to fall asleep. "I will believe that when I hear it from his mouth," he muttered to his hands.

"Come, come, I'm sure it will be alright," Gandalf said, settling down on an armchair. He did not look like he truly believed his own words. "In the meantime, let us ponder on your… resurrection."

"I know nothing more than you do, Gandalf," Thorin said, leaning back against the pillows some more. "Only that three of us distinctly saw the Halls of Waiting, before we were wrenched back."

Gandalf's bushy eyebrows raised in question. "You were already in the Halls?"

"No, I don't think any of us ever reached it," Fili shook his head morosely. "We awoke on a corridor, you see, and had to walk towards it. But something was weighing us down, as if preventing us from getting there too quickly. And then we were pulled back."

"This is ill news," the wizard muttered. "Something, or someone, was clearly strong enough, and knew enough to stop souls coming to Aule's halls." The statement was followed by a grave silence, before Gandalf looked up to Thorin, Fili and Kili. "May I check on the three of you, to make sure you are indeed alive and well?"

At their nods, the wizard stood up and settled first beside Kili, smiling comfortingly at Kili's nervousness. He raised a weathered hand, and ran it over Kili's body from his head, muttering incantations all the while. When he got to Kili's chest, the young dwarf gave a sudden shout of pain and lurched forward, breaths a ragged gasp.

"What did you do to him?" Thorin demanded as he pulled Kili to him, and searched his nephew's face. He looked surprised and was shaking a little, but otherwise seemed alright. He whipped around to face Gandalf but the wizard was, for the second time today, in shock and at a loss.

Without further prompting he did the same to Thorin, and the dwarf let him. Once Gandalf's hand hovered over his chest, the king felt a strange twist inside him, and then a _pull_ , as if something was trying to tug his lungs from his ribcage. Thorin yelled, lurching, and when he looked up to curse at the wizard he was already hurrying to Fili's side. When Fili gave the same reaction, he drew back, expression grim as his hands withdrew to his robes.

"What is going on?" Thorin asked through gasping breaths. He clutched his chest, feeling sick as he remembered the sensation of his organs trying to seemingly tear out of his body. Balin was rubbing Fili's back soothingly, while Dain patted Kili - who was still dry-retching - on the shoulder.

Gandalf had settled back in his chair, deep in his thoughts. "I cannot be sure now. We must first wait for news of Bilbo."

Later, as one by one the Company trickled back in to report that none of them had found Bilbo, Gandalf's face darkened further. He stood up and paced the room as Thorin's worry grew, and the king gritted his teeth in frustration.

"How he always managed to slip past us unseen, I'll never know," Bofur sighed, slumped against the dresser dejectedly. "And I doubt I'll ever find out."

"Unseen indeed," Gandalf said, stopping his pacing to look at Thorin seriously. "I think I know what Bilbo is up to, and I'm afraid it is not the least bit pleasant."

The Company erupted to question, clamoring towards Gandalf. He held up a hand to stall them, closing his eyes with a sigh.

"It has something to do with Thorin, Fili, and Kili's return from the dead," the wizard intoned gravely. "A darker power has returned to Middle Earth, a power not seen in an age. And I think I am correct to assume that Bilbo has struck a bargain with him."

 

 

Bilbo rubbed his nose, drawing his cloak tighter around him. The pack he carried was heavy, but a long time on the road had strengthened him, and he shouldered it now with ease. The cold was settling in, and he would do well to make good progress now before snow fell.

He glanced down at the map he had torn off one of the books in Erebor's great library, guilt stirring in his gut. With a wry smile he imagined either Ori or Balin (or both) shouting at him if he was ever found out, but he had no choice. He could tell no one of his quest, it was his to undertake alone.

Bilbo looked back towards the Lonely Mountain, looming behind him imposingly. The sight was as breathtaking as the first time he laid eyes upon it, and he sincerely doubted he'd ever not be in awe. His thoughts wandered to the princes, and the King Under the Mountain. They must have found them by now, and soon, his absence would be noticed as well. He could not dawdle.

Bilbo turned his gaze forward once more, and walked on south.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins.
> 
> Nidoyel – boy of all boys


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!! Thanks so much for all the kudos/bookmarks/comments you're all fantastic people I never would have thought this fic could get this much support you're all so sweet ; ;
> 
> Hope you all have a great start to 2015 <3

"So," Thranduil drawled as he swept into the room, silver robes swishing quietly behind him. "It is true. You are back, even when you had gone beyond all hope. Here I thought I would be attending your funeral."

"It was not my intention, I can assure you," Thorin replied, voice dry. Irritation stirred in his gut, and he glanced at the Elvenking from the corner of his eyes. Thranduil's gaze switched back and forth between him and his nephews, clearly studying them, but his expression betrayed nothing. Whatever he felt about their return, Thorin did not know, nor did he care. Thorin turned his gaze back to the fire, the familiar leather of his father's armchair creaking under him as he shifted.

Thranduil hummed finally, silently walking to stand beside the merrily roaring fireplace with such grace only elves can achieve. He eyed the emeralds encrusted in the mantelpiece, but Thorin felt no need to protect the treasures like he did some days ago. The elf's eyes then roved around Thrain's old study where they were gathered, gaze meeting with Gandalf's, and he gave the wizard a nod of acknowledgement.

"Very odd indeed, when not even elves and men are given such privileges," Thranduil continued. "You and your nephews are very lucky."

"But it is not a situation of luck we find ourselves in now," Gandalf chimed in, and all eyes turned to him. He moved nearer to the fire, that troubled frown on his face not once leaving his face since they discovered Bilbo's plans. Thorin's chest gave a pang of guilt and worry at the reminder of his burglar, for it was his actions that had driven Bilbo into such desperate decisions.

The Elvenking's eyes narrowed at Gandalf's words, head tilting a little to the side in confusion. "Speak not in riddles, Mithrandir, for I believe I was called upon on urgent matters."

"It's about our friend, Bilbo," Kili piped up.

"The Halfling?" Thranduil said, surprised.

"Do not call him that," Thorin spat, irritation bubbling up in him again. Thranduil turned to him sharply, blinking once. "He is not half of anything."

"You are aware of the darkness gathering in your forest, centered around Dol Guldur, are you not?" Gandalf cut in, stopping all arguments between the two kings before it began. "And that the Necromancer that resided there was Sauron?"

"I am," he admitted, nodding slowly. "I was told that he was defeated, by Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and Saruman the White. What has this to do with the hobbit?"

Gandalf shook his head gravely, leaning heavily on his staff. "No, my Lord. He was driven out of Dol Guldur, yes, but he is not defeated. He fled, to Mordor."

"And why should this worry us, if he is so far south?"

"We believe," Gandalf said heavily, sadness plainly etched on his face. "We believe that Bilbo has struck a bargain with him."

At this, the Elvenking scoffed, as if he couldn't help himself. "What does a hobbit have that the Enemy wants, to the point that he would strike a bargain for it?"

"The One Ring," Thorin answered, voice low and full of anger. Thranduil whipped around to stare at him sharply, icy blue eyes narrowing to slits.

"The Ring was lost long ago --"

"It was found, by none other than our Mr Baggins," Gandalf said. He looked very, very old then, shoulders sagging and his ancient eyes so full of sorrow.

Thranduil looked on the verge of rage as silence followed Gandalf's statement. The Elvenking looked around the room but nobody else seemed surprised, only weary, and sad. "Mithrandir, do you believe this?" he hissed finally. "This is not a matter of jest!"

"It's true, Bilbo has the Ring," Fili said, voice serious and solemn. A second later his expression crumpled, and his tone switched to one of guilt and regret. "And as his friends we should have realised, should have questioned how he managed to slip past so many people and things unseen. We thought it was his hobbit-y nature, but we should have known nobody could be that good, we should have --"

His hands clenched to fists, and his brother slung an arm around his shoulder sympathetically. He, too, looked guilty beyond measure, while Thorin had slumped further down in his chair, expression dark. Gandalf swooped in and leaned down to the young dwarf's eye level, expression kind.

"It is not your fault, Fili," he said gently. "Nor is it any of yours. You must know this."

"So," Thranduil said, voice tight. He had begun pacing the room in his agitation, something Thorin hadn't seen much elves do, so rarely did they lose their calm. "So, the hobbit has found the One Ring, which Sauron wants. And he has agreed to give it to him in exchange for… what?"

Nobody answered, and he stopped his pacing finally, turning to them.

"For what?" he asked again. He looked to Gandalf, but the wizard's expression was grim and his lips a tight line, so he turned to the three dwarves instead. He opened his mouth to demand an answer again when it all clicked together.

"Oh," Thranduil breathed, understanding flooding his eyes. Thorin turned away, unable to look at the way the way the ancient elf seemed to deflate before his very eyes. It was disheartening to see how the knowledge could lower the spirit of such a powerful being. The dwarf king's hands clenched in his lap, nails digging into his palm. Terror filled his heart once again -- not for himself, but for his kin, for Bilbo, and for the fate of Middle Earth. He knew exactly what would happen should the Ring fall to the Enemy's hands.

"You must send out a scout, Thranduil," Gandalf said, voice softer now. "Find Bilbo, bring him back. We must convince him not to take the Ring to Sauron, if that is indeed where he is going. Your elves can reach him quickest."

Thorin made himself look up to Thranduil's face, expecting to see blame and even more hatred in the Elvenking's eyes, which he deserved this time. It was Thorin's fault that the whole of Middle-Earth was in danger; he had been reckless, driven by anger and vengeance, and even though his old enemies Smaug and Azog had been defeated he had doomed them all to a worse fate. But when their gazes met Thorin found none, instead he saw sadness, and understanding.

Thranduil nodded once to Gandalf's request. "Know this, Thorin, son of Thrain: I would not wish this burden even upon you," he muttered. "And as much as it terrifies me to think of the power the hobbit holds over the fate of Middle-Earth, I can understand what had driven him to such actions," he admitted, looking at and tilting his head to Thorin pointedly.

Thorin frowned, confused, but Thranduil had glided away towards the doors, not looking back to any of them. Over his shoulder he promised a group would be dispatched to find Bilbo this evening, but before he was fully out the door, Kili shouted, unable to stop himself, "Where is Tauriel?"

Thranduil stopped, glancing back to Kili for a moment, eyes assessing. Kili stood tall beneath that ancient gaze, the set of his jaw determined. Then the elf turned forwards once more, tone dismissive when he spoke.

"Back with her people, where she belongs. She could not bear to stay here any longer." At those words, Kili deflated, but he looked up sharply when Thranduil continued, "Although no doubt you will see each other soon enough."

Thorin noted with some amusement that his youngest nephew's face had lit up so very brightly, and he couldn't find it in himself to begrudge the fact that Kili's affection was for an elf. His nephews could love whomever they wanted, for there were more important things in this world than old prejudices and petty grievances. He was only sorry that it took madness and death for him to see that.

But enough of that, now. He cleared his throat and looked up to Fili, who met his eyes expectantly. The bright spark of innocence that had been in his nephew's eyes at the beginning of the quest was not there anymore, replaced by new wisdom that came only from witnessing sorrow and grief. Thorin smiled to himself; Fili would make a good king, Erebor would prosper under his rule.

"Do you think," Thorin began quietly. "That you can handle the Mountain for me for a while?"

His nephews stiffened in surprise, and even Gandalf looked up sharply at his words. Fili's eyes narrowed, staring at Thorin suspiciously.

"Why?" he asked. "Where are you going, Thorin?"

Thorin turned away towards the fire, unable to look at either his nephews or the wizard for the shame suddenly filling him. He was the one at fault here, no matter how much others tried to convince him it wasn't.

"I have a hobbit to find," he muttered.

"We're coming with you," Fili and Kili said together, without hesitation. Thorin glared at his nephews, but before he could get a word out Gandalf intercepted.

"Don't be ridiculous, you three," he snapped. "Your people need you here in Erebor, Thorin. There is much to do as King in a newly reclaimed kingdom. You cannot just up and leave, much less take your heirs with you!"

"Fili will handle it, I don't plan to take them along, anyway," Thorin replied, waving a hand dismissively as both Fili and Kili squawked in protest.

"The elves will find Bilbo!" Gandalf argued further, rising from his seat. "You must stay, if not for your people, then for yours, Fili's and Kili's sake! We do not know yet the extent of Sauron's hold over your souls, how deep his hook goes; who knows what will happen if you act recklessly?"

The wizard had a point, Thorin admitted irritably. The elves were indeed quicker, more efficient, and more tireless. He could admit that much. And although he put little worth onto his own life, his nephews' lives were precious. In his heart he knew they would follow him wherever, and Thorin would not risk Fili and Kili being lost once again.

"Three days," he finally said, wearily. "I will wait three days for news of Bilbo, and if by then the elves haven't found him, I will head out to find him myself."

 

 

The trip could almost be pleasant, Bilbo thought, if he ignored his destination. As long as he didn't stray too far into Mirkwood, and could still see the blue sky between the leaves and branches, he could almost pretend he was back home, strolling through the woods of The Shire. The trees weren't so infected and sick here, and breeze still flowed to tickle his skin and caress his hair.

Bilbo recalled the stale, stagnant air of the depths of Mirkwood, and how it brought down the spirits of even the most cheerful members of Thorin's Company. The hobbit scrunched his nose at the unpleasant memory, eager not to repeat it again as he drifted more towards the edges of the woods. The only reason he was _in_ the damn forest in the first place was because he would be too easily spotted if he walked beside it, as the whole landscape was covered in a thick layer of snow.

It was only the first couple of days of Bilbo's solo journey, but he found he was missing his dwarves terribly. He had gotten so used to their presence, their noisy snoring and boisterous singing and joking that everything felt too quiet now. There was nothing to see but trees and more trees, and he had nobody to talk to. The Ring had fallen silent since the last time it had spoken to Bilbo in Erebor, strangely enough, but he was glad for it. Even if he had nobody else to speak with, Bilbo would choose silence over speaking to the bloody thing. The voice that came forth from the magic ring chilled him to his bones and always made him shiver with terror.

With nothing else to occupy his mind, Bilbo's thoughts inevitably turned towards the-recently-undead-dwarves he left behind in Erebor. Were they okay? How did they take to this second chance at life? Did they return as they were, or did they come back as some strange version of themselves, twisted by death or the forces that returned them to their bodies? He didn't get to see them when they woke, after all.

No, Bilbo told himself. The voice had given him its word, and he knew that to almost all magical beings, those kinds of oaths were binding. Thorin and his nephews will be alright.

Another question nagged at his mind, though, and the hobbit gulped nervously at the thought of it.

Was Thorin, Fili and Kili angry at him for pulling them back from the mercy and peacefulness of death? He knew that Thorin especially had many loved ones waiting for him at the halls of his forefathers, but to see the proud dwarf King so still and silent was _unbearable_ \--

Bilbo shook his head firmly. Let him be angry at me, Bilbo thought. He had thought that being on the receiving end of Thorin's fury like that time with the Arkenstone was the worst thing that could have happened to him, bypassing all the fear he felt throughout the journey to Erebor itself. But now Bilbo didn't mind being despised, to bear the brunt of that anger as long as he knew that Thorin continued to live. If there was ever once decision Bilbo would not regret, it was this.

He was wrenched from his thoughts by a suspicious rustling sound some feet behind him. Bilbo whipped around, one hand clenching the handle of Sting and the other gripping the pocket that held the magic Ring. Bilbo's heart was pounding, almost loud enough to drown out any other sounds in his ears. His mind supplied him with some terrible creatures; orcs, who had fled this way after the battle in Erebor, bandits and thieves, waiting for lost travellers, or those giant spiders, even though in his heart Bilbo knew they would not wander this far out of the forest. He was a little hobbit, alone in the woods, what he could he do against foes?

Moments passed, but nothing happened. Bilbo was forced to conclude that it was perhaps only a small animal running past, or his own restless mind making up things, even though the gleaming pair of orbs he had seen amongst some trees looked too much like large, luminous eyes.

Bilbo relaxed his grip on Sting and his pocket, inhaling deeply to calm his frayed nerves. He turned back around,

to find a notched arrow pointed between his eyes.

"Um," Bilbo squeaked pathetically.

"You will follow me, if you know what is good for you," the elf Captain Bilbo and the Company had met in Mirkwood said icily, her hold on the bow not lessening. Tauriel, her name was, if Bilbo remembered Kili's stories from the Mirkwood dungeons correctly. She was as beautiful and terrifying as when he first saw her, that deadly gleam in her eyes still very much present. But there was something different about her this time, in the way she held herself. She seemed calmer, though colder and more detached with everything else around her, and the bright, eager aura that Bilbo used to remember feeling around her was missing.

The hobbit cleared his throat a little, standing up straighter under that intense gaze.

"Are you, um, quite sure you have the right person? I am just a hobbit," Bilbo said, and was rewarded with an unimpressed glare from the elf.

"My orders were clear: find the hobbit that travelled with Thorin Oakenshield's Company and bring him back," she said, not a hint of emotion on her face.

Bilbo's eyes widened. "M-me? What does the Elvenking want with me?" he sputtered.

"It is not only he who wants you," Tauriel replied, and then, with narrowed eyes and a quieter tone, she said, "You carry something: a ring of great power. And you are delivering it to the Enemy."

"Great power? The Enemy?" Bilbo repeated, bewildered. She couldn't be talking about the ring he had in his pocket; it was just a little ring that made him invisible, nothing more! Well, it also talked to him a little, but so what? And if it truly held great power, why would it be in the hands of a creature like Gollum?

But Tauriel continued as if he hadn't spoken at all, still with that suspicious, detached air. "I could not imagine how a hobbit like you could become an agent of Evil. You are putting all of Middle Earth in danger. You cannot go further."

And with that, she put away her bow and arrow but took out a dagger, which she pointed to his face, and a piece of rope. Her eyes flickered to Bilbo's hands, the order clear, and Bilbo immediately felt panic welling up in him.

"N-now see here," he stammered, backing away a step. He would never, could never outrun an elf, but he needed to put some distance between the sharp point of that dagger and his eyes. To his dismay, she matched his step with a step forward of her own, even as he took another step back. "You cannot possibly have the right person! I own a magic ring, yes, but all it does is make me invisible! That's all!"

She shook her head gravely. "No, Master Hobbit. That which you hold is The One Ring of Sauron."

Tauriel spat the name out as if it were poison, but Bilbo froze on the spot. Sauron? Not _the_ Sauron? But he was only a legend! A story his mother would sometimes tell him about before bed. Surely he could not be real? He was destroyed many years ago, besides, and his ring lost Eru knows where. He could not terrorize Middle Earth anymore.

But even as he thought so, a chill ran down his spine, heavy dread settling in his bones. Unless, he thought, unless the ring _was_ found, by the unlikeliest creature of all: Gollum. When he looked up, Tauriel's eyes held no mirth, no joke. Bilbo wasn't sure what to think, except that she was holding out the rope more insistently now.

"Your hands, Master Hobbit," she ordered.

_Do not let her take you_ , the voice whispered suddenly in his head, and Bilbo almost jumped and gave himself away. _Fulfil your end of the bargain, or your dwarves will die for good._

Oh, he couldn't have that.

"No," he told her sternly with the hidden courage he wouldn't even know he possessed had he not gone on the Quest for Erebor, and the elf's eyes shone with surprise. "No, I will not be coming to wherever it is you are taking me. This ring is a payment for a service, I have given my word."

"Service?" she said incredulously. "What could you possibly have gained for you to put the world in danger?"

"Thorin, and his nephews, they have been brought back and I --"

"They are dead," she scoffed, returning to her cool, blank mask.

The sight of it only fueled Bilbo's anger. She did not _understand_ \-- she did not _know_ that he was prepared to do whatever to have his friends returned to him again, including to trek all the way to _Mordor_ to give up this precious treasure. She did not understand the love and grief he held in his heart for his dwarves, equally as strong, and she was hindering him on this quest.

"No, they are alive and well, thank you very much. I made sure of that," Bilbo said, barely keeping a lid on his anger.

_Use me_ , the voice hissed, and the ring in his pocket grew warm. _Disappear, and be off. You must not tarry._

"They are dead!" Tauriel repeated, louder, almost shouting this time. She had slashed the air with her dagger as she spoke, the sudden gesture of frustration surprising Bilbo. "Kili is dead!"

Bilbo felt his breath catch as the pieces clicked into place in his head. She had lost her calm, in a way Bilbo had very rarely seen elves do, when she denied his words. She had said Kili's name like it burned her from the inside to do so, but he had seen that wild, terrible hope in her eyes as she did, wishing that she could believe him, even as tears slid down her face.

The revelation quietened Bilbo's panicking heart, slowing its rapid beat as he prepared himself for what he was about to say next. His hand remained in his pocket, fingers turning the ring around and around.

"Kili is alive," he said, meeting Tauriel's eyes seriously. He thought he saw something in her break, then, and if he wasn't paying attention fully he probably would have missed the small shakes of her head: disbelieving, or wishing he would stop talking altogether. Bilbo's chest ached; he wanted to comfort her, but he could not dawdle anymore. "So is Fili, and Thorin. And they will die for good if I fail this task. You should be _grateful_ that I brought them back."

And with that, he slipped the ring on his finger and disappeared, slipping away quietly as the elf stood frozen, eyes staring but unseeing at the spot where he had disappeared with tears still streaming down her cheeks.

She made no further attempts to chase him down.

 

 

In the end, Thorin could not convince neither Fili or Kili to stay behind.

He went to bed full of apprehension on the third day, restlessness buzzing in him, almost keeping him from sleep the whole night. Thorin woke in the early mornings of the fourth day, grim and grumpy as he waited for _any_ news of the missing hobbit, while the rest of the Mountain slowly woke up. When none came, he strapped Orcrist to his back, fastened his cloak, and shouldered the pack he had prepared last night, ready to leave. He should not go, he knew. There was too much to do as king of a newly reclaimed kingdom, but he could not stay here either.

Thorin had been prepared to die to retake Erebor (and he did), and all his preparations focused on the reclamation of the Mountain, that he never really gave much thought on being king afterwards. The crown was a heavy burden, he had come to understand through painful firsthand experiences. He found that he did not quite know how to handle the throne. With a pang in his chest Thorin realized he needed Bilbo; even when surrounded by his kin and an army of dwarves that had pledged themselves to him, he was plagued with insecurity. Everyone in the mountain looked to him as King Thorin -- no one saw and understood him as just _Thorin_ , only his hobbit could do so. Bilbo would certainly know what to do, the words to say to soothe Thorin's mind and to smooth out the rebuilding of a kingdom.

Even after all he had done to Bilbo, he knew he did not deserve to be in Bilbo's presence, let alone have his help and friendship. But in the privacy of his mind, Thorin could admit to himself that he _wanted_ it.

Not to mention that the shadow of the gold-sickness still lingered at the back of his mind; it would do him good to be away from the Mountain and the treasure for a while. Balin and Dain could take care of rebuilding and the diplomatic talks that were sure to come soon.

He walked out of his chambers, intent on taking only a few of his Company (who had _all_ been eager to help him go after Bilbo), to find that his nephews had camped right outside his door. They stood up hurriedly when he emerged, expressions determined, packs and weapons ready and cloaks fastened about their shoulders.

Thorin sighed. He knew they felt as guilty about Bilbo as much as he, even when there was no need to. But there was no persuading them, and he knew that if he left without them, they would follow anyway.

That didn't mean he had to like it that Fili and Kili were coming, and were once again in danger.

"Find Dwalin, Bofur, and Nori, tell them to pack up and be ready. Then meet me at the gates in an hour." He pretended not to see the victorious grins the brothers shot each other, and hid his own affectionate smile behind his curtain of hair. Fili and Kili shot away, lively and excited and full of energy. Thorin watched them go fondly, swearing to himself that this time, his nephews would live.

Then he went to find Balin and Dain, hurriedly explaining his intentions and his request for them to run Erebor while he was away. They agreed, smiling in understanding, and Balin even patted his cheek like hadn't done since Thorin was a little dwarfling. They bade him good luck, Dain thumping him on the back good-naturedly as he left the room.

He went to find Bombur next, to ask for supplies for the journey. But it was getting difficult to get to the kitchens, for dwarves were surrounding him from all sides. Ever since the announcement two days prior that King Thorin was, in fact, not dead, dwarves clamored to see him and the princes, camping just outside the royal wing to get a glimpse of them. Neither Thorin or Fili or Kili had gone out to meet them, however, recuperating from death as they were.

They surrounded him now, clapping and cheering and tripping over themselves just to see him. Thorin's heart was warmed by their loyalty and their concern, but he felt uncomfortable being surrounded by so many dwarves in such a close space, and he needed to gather supplies quickly if he were to leave as soon as possible. Some of his subjects were even shedding tears at the sight of him even though they were tough warriors, which only added to his unease and guilt.

"That's enough, all of you," a loud voice boomed, and the crowd fell silent at once. The tall figure of Gandalf appeared, old eyes twinkling. "I am sure your that while your king is touched by your actions and words, there is somewhere else he needs to be right now."

Thorin narrowed his eyes at the wizard, certain that he had waited until the last moment to rescue him, but Gandalf only met his gaze innocently. Then he bowed his head in response to Gandalf's assumption, and the dwarves around him drew back from Thorin's personal space, looking rather sheepish.

"Very sorry about that, your majesty," a young soldier spoke up, fiddling with his belt nervously. "We was just very glad, you see, and terribly excited. We don't mean to keep you or anythin'."

"There is nothing to forgive," Thorin replied, with some amusement. "As the wizard said, I am touched by your concern. Thank you." He inclined his head, smiling a little. All the dwarves around him bowed deeply, grins on their faces, and Thorin let himself be led away from the corridor by Gandalf.

Once they were out of sight and earshot, however, Gandalf's expression turned grim. "You mean to go ahead with your plan, then?" he asked.

"Nothing you say can stop me," Thorin muttered, quickening his strides. He had already lost time he could have used preparing for the journey. If they were lucky, it needn't be a long one, but Thorin doubted that.

"Nor will I waste my breath trying," the wizard said, and Thorin raised an eyebrow at him. Gandalf huffed, irritated but amused at the same time. "Once your mind is set on something, even the might of the Valar will not stop you, I know you that much, Thorin Oakenshield."

He could not help but chuckle a little at that.

 

 

It was a little before noon when they finally set out, the rest of the Company who would be staying behind waving them goodbye from the battlements. Thorin, Fili, Kili, Dwalin, Bofur and Nori urged their ponies to a quick trot, eager to close the distance between them and their hobbit, while Gandalf led his horse at a more leisurely pace at the back. The wizard had invited himself in on the journey, saying that Bilbo was still his responsibility and under his protection, even after the Quest for Erebor was completed.

"But more than that, he is my friend," he added in an insulted tone, as if it was absurd to think that he would not come looking for Bilbo in the first place. Thorin, however, had a hunch that there was something more than that, as the wizard was never without his secrets. Something about the Ring, probably, but Thorin did not care about it now, only that Bilbo was safe.

They stopped by Dale for a while to acquire more supplies, and to visit Bard and inform him themselves of Thorin, Fili and Kili's return. His only outward reaction upon seeing them was the raise of his eyebrows, and an almost bemused expression on his usually grim face.

"They call your ancestor Deathless," he said by way of greeting, inviting them into a tiny room where they could speak in private. There was not nearly enough chairs, so they all stayed standing, and Bard leaned his hip casually against a table. "Seems like it was not just a myth after all."

Thorin inclined his head in acknowledgement, a little impressed that the man knew of Dwarven history, but did not show his surprise on his face. "How goes the rebuilding of Dale?" he inquired instead.

"As well as it could go in this terrible weather," Bard replied, looking out the window briefly to where his people were working to rebuild the city of Dale, along with some elves Thranduil had sent to help. "But some people do not wish to move from Laketown, so we are rebuilding that as well. That means Dale will not be finished as quickly as we'd like, but it is not my place to tell people where to live."

"And how do you find leadership?" Gandalf asked with a kind smile. Bard shifted uncomfortably at that, undoubtedly still feeling awkward whenever anybody mentioned his kingship. But a leader and a king he was, even if his dominion was still more rubbles than city, and judging by how progress was going, he was a fine one as well.

"It is… trying," he said slowly, frowning as he chose his words carefully. "And often very, very tedious. But nonetheless it is a mantle I must take, for the greater good."

They left Dale with well-wishes and additional supplies, and the dwarves plus one wizard rode on, feeling comforted by the fact that in the future, Erebor would have a strong and reliable ally in Dale.

The party went around the Long Lake, taking the longer route instead of crossing the great body of water because they did not want to disrupt the rebuilding of Laketown. They passed by the ruined town anyway, and some villagers who recognized them waved, calling out their well-wishes. News travelled fast it seemed, but Thorin was pleased that the Men seem to be mostly glad to see him alive despite what he had done in the past, something he shared with his present Company.

"Or it could be they know where we're going, and they're only worried for Bilbo," Bofur pointed out. "He charmed the pants off of them fishermen."

Nori cackled at that, lighting a pipe to smoke atop his pony. "Aye. Everybody loves him, polite little thing he is."

Thorin grumbled but privately agreed that they could very well be correct.

They kept their eyes out for Bilbo at all times, peering into Mirkwood after Gandalf pointed out that it was unlikely that Bilbo would walk outside the protection of the trees when snow was thick upon the ground. But they knew that Bilbo was far ahead; he had walked for four days, even if Thorin and the rest were on ponies and horse. The party was only nearing the River Running when Gandalf stopped them, staff held out warningly.

"Something's coming," he muttered, and Thorin stiffened, following the line of the wizard's gaze to a line of trees. They waited, and for a while, nothing happened. But then a figure stumbled out of the trees, far enough for them to not be able to discern enough who it was, but enough to know that they were tall enough to be a Man or elf. Dwalin quietly drew his axes and Thorin Orcrist, while Fili and Nori unsheathed their knives and daggers and Bofur took out his mattock. Kili remained frozen in his saddle, eyes intently watching the figure, his whole body tense.

When the person stumbled in their steps again, this time definitely towards their direction, Kili sprung into action, urging his pony into a gallop towards the stranger. Thorin felt his heart leap into his throat with fear as Fili yelled for his brother and followed him. He had no idea who the person could be, and if they were dangerous. Dwalin growled and Bofur and Nori traded exasperated but worried glances before hurrying off as well, and Thorin was a little surprised to see a little smile hidden in Gandalf's bushy beard. But he did not dwell on it, chasing after his companions instead.

The figure seemed to have fallen to their knees on the snow, arms held out in front of them. When he was close enough, Kili leaped off his pony and ran faster than Thorin had ever seen him run, and now that he was closer with a jolt Thorin recognized the bright red hair, the voice that cried his youngest nephew's name with such joy.

Thorin slowed his mount as Kili crashed into Tauriel's arms, and held fast. He watched as the elf's hands dug into Kili's hair and the back of his cloak, slender fingers going white with the grip she had on him. Thorin got off his pony and stood beside Fili, who was grinning from ear to ear as he watched his brother reunite with his love.

"You approve of their relationship," Dwalin muttered quietly from Thorin's other side, eyeing him strangely. It wasn't a question.

Thorin still hated elves, but he felt no despise towards this elf, who had pulled back from Kili's embrace and was peppering his face with kisses, who had saved his nephew many times and had made him happier and more alive than he had ever been. He could accept her, Thorin thought, and one day may even grow to love her as his own kin. She was brave, true, loyal and kind -- all the qualities he admired in a person.

But one step at a time.

"Of course," he replied, shrugging easily as if his answer was obvious. "You know I could not deny Fili and Kili anything. She will be welcome in Erebor."

He could promise that much, for now. Change, after all, came slowly to the dwarves.

Kili drew her close again, burying his face in her neck. Tauriel hummed, eyes closed and a content smile upon her lips. They stayed like that for a while, and the Company made no move to disturb them. But when she opened her eyes, Tauriel's gaze met Thorin's, and he was surprised when she very visibly tensed.

Thorin opened his mouth to assure her that he did not mind, but her face filled with anguish and her eyes shone with fresh tears. Kili looked up, confused, and only then seemed to remember that his uncle and the others were also present. He pulled back from her, but kept an arm around her waist in a loose hold as he faced Thorin, expression both scared and determined.

"Kili, it's fine --"

"I am so sorry." Tauriel's broken voice cut across Thorin's words, and all eyes turned to her. She had started crying, tears spilling down her pale face, and Kili reached up to wipe them away. But the elf had eyes only for Thorin, and her lips trembled as she repeated her apology.

Thorin sighed, always unsure of what to do when faced with such sorrow. "Apologize no more. There is nothing to be sorry for," he told her.

But she shook her head, closing her eyes as if she was in pain. "No, I am sorry I could not stop him," she whispered. "He said that Kili lived, that you all lived, that I had to go and see for myself --"

"You saw Bilbo?" It was Bofur who asked, coming forward to look at her incredulously.

She nodded, fist tightening where it clenched around Kili's sleeve. Thorin felt his knees go weak, and he wanted to slump to the ground as she did. Bilbo was alright, well enough to escape past an elf yet again, and he almost wanted to laugh at his burglar's antics. But then Tauriel opened her eyes, and she looked so anguished that Thorin's relief was cut short.

"He's so far south already and he's -- oh, he's taking the One Ring back to its Master."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some additional notes if you haven't read Silmarillion:  
> \- Sauron used to serve Aule, the Maker of the dwarves, which in my head is why he had enough knowledge about Aule's place to bring the Durins back. He's been keeping this knowledge for a while to use when the time is right heh  
> \- The bit about Thranduil saying that Thorin, Fili and Kili were lucky was that because the dwarves are the "adopted children" of Eru, and usually not favoured by him.
> 
> Also next update will be a little slow because I start uni again next week and have a paper due soon ; ; But once again thanks for all your support! I'll see you next time!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long-ish wait folks but here we are! I wanted to post this before I leave for a weekend break tomorrow so I wrote the bulk of this yesterday and today orz And I must say I am amazed by the kudos and bookmarks and comments this story got!!! Thank you very much ;v; I will get round to replying to comments I promise...
> 
> Also pls chat me up on [tumblr](http://kveykur.tumblr.com) I am a lonely potato

Bilbo thought he would never get used to the strange, muted world whenever he put on the ring.

He was born to the beautiful, colourful hills of The Shire, where the sky was ever blue and the meadows like a rich, green carpet all around. Where flowers of every colour grew outside the houses and the people wore bright, fancy clothes. Bilbo spent most of his life in a place where one could hear children's laughter and cries, and the ladies' gossiping, and the gents' boisterous conversations wherever he went. Even when he left The Shire his travelling companions single-handedly made up for all the sights and noises Bilbo thought he had left behind.

Even the depths of Mirkwood, with all its giant spiders and heavy, oppressive air, wasn't this eerie. It was frightening, yes, but this gray world had a different quality of terror to it: one that was quiet and bone-chilling, and Bilbo wondered how he wasn't as disturbed by it before.

He stumbled through the undergrowth, jumping over roots and dodging low branches as swiftly and silently as he could, fleeing from the elf Captain. He needed to get as far away as possible, while she was still in shock. And imagine that - he had made an elf freeze in surprise! A little hysterically he thought Belladonna would have been incredibly proud of him.

However, as he ran, her words echoed in his mind - relentless, unforgiving. _Sauron's ring, Sauron's ring, Sauron's ring… The One Ring of Power…_

Bilbo felt sick to the stomach at the thought that the ring he currently possessed could perhaps be the most dangerous artefact in Middle Earth. He had tried to tell himself that it was not possible, that it was just a mistake, but deep in his heart he knew that it was not so. The way the cold, mirthless voice spoke in his head, and the way his chest seized as if in an icy grip of terror every time it spoke was too sinister to ignore. But if it really was the One Ring, and if the stories of it were true, then why did it come to him? Why a simple hobbit, he thought. Why --

He tripped, not noticing the upraised root in time, and getting his foot caught in it. Bilbo yelled in surprise as he landed hard on his front, all the breath knocked out of him. The ring flew from his finger and sailed in a graceful arc in the air, and as it slipped off Bilbo swore he could hear dark chuckling in his head. Immediately colour and sound slammed back to him, and he was left reeling from the fall and the suddenness of it.

The ring landed some feet away from him, glinting dully in the dim light of Mirkwood. Bilbo shuddered at the sight of it. He got to his feet and strode to it, then shoved it into his pocket.

The ring came to him because it _chose_ him. It knew that Bilbo was its best chance at getting back to its master. Which was exactly what Bilbo was doing, and at the same time putting all of Middle Earth in danger.

He thought of the dark, yet glittering caves of Thranduil's palace, of the splendid cities of Men he had never seen yet heard so much about, and of the quiet, peaceful beauty of Rivendell. He thought of Erebor, strong and magnificent even when in ruins, and of the gentle rolling hills of The Shire. All of it placed in great peril for his selfishness.

And yet he could not let Thorin, Fili, and Kili die. Not if he could stop it from happening, or if he could bring them back. _There is always hope,_ Bilbo thought, trying to justify his actions to himself as he clutched the fabric of his pocket, the round shape of the ring hard against his flesh. _There is always hope for the living._

The excuse sounded brittle even to his own mind, but he could not allow himself to dwell on it now. He needed to get to the Black Gate and be rid of the ring as soon as possible, then return to Erebor. He needed to see that his friends were indeed living - he missed them something terrible.

And - yes, he needed to see Thorin, to ask him why he had so easily let Bilbo go. Why he told Bilbo to go home when home was no longer The Shire, when home ceased to exist the very moment Thorin did as well. He was angry at Thorin for it, and frustrated, and confused. His heart had been torn asunder by those parting words, and by how softly Thorin spoke them, even when it was clear that speaking had become difficult for his dying lungs. There was something tender in his eyes, then, that Bilbo could not help but _hope_ the dwarf would say more, the words Bilbo wanted to hear…

But then Thorin's last breath rattled past his lips, and the light extinguished from his eyes, and Bilbo was left clutching the shell of the once mighty dwarf.

_Oh, stop it,_ he scolded himself. _He's fine, now, as is Fili and Kili. All you have to worry about is getting to the Black Gate as quickly as possible._

He had been walking in relative silence for only a few moments when he heard the howling of wargs, causing him to jump terribly. They were still distant, but close enough to send Bilbo to a panic. They must have been what was left of Azog's army, left to wander the wilderness after the battle. An inappropriately cheerful voice in his head chirped that it was _just his luck_ , that they chose to stray here.

But the orcs wouldn't enter Mirkwood, would they? It was still infested with those giant spiders, after all. And if they did, there'd be lots of cover for Bilbo, or he could climb a tree, to wait them out. However, right now he was standing too close to the edges of the forest, and the orcs would spot him too easily. He needed to get deeper in.

Bilbo stared into the gloom of the dark, sickly trees apprehensively. As much as it frightened him to go back into Mirkwood, it was either that or become dinner for a pack of orcs. He really didn't think he could talk himself out of being eaten a second time, so with a deep breath and a prayer for courage, Bilbo ran further into the forest.

 

 

The good news was that he couldn't hear the orcs and wargs anymore.

The bad news, was that he was, well, lost.

It was to be expected, the hobbit supposed, for he remembered Gandalf's dire warnings the first time around to not stray from the path. And this time, Bilbo had no path to begin with. It was a bit unfair, really, he whined in the privacy of his own mind. He was only fleeing for his life.

He had been walking for hours, going around what he was sure was in circles. Like the last time he was here, everything looked exactly the same, and the air he breathed heavy. He was also starting to get quite dizzy, and unable to think straight. By Eru, he didn't even know how much time had passed. He could have been in here for days, for all he knew. 

With a pitiful sound Bilbo looked at the nearest tree, knowing that he had to climb it to find direction from the top. He didn't particularly like climbing, especially to a height as high as the canopy of Mirkwood. There was too much distance between him and the ground, and those spiders might find him, and whatnot. But it had to be done if he wanted to find his way out of here.

Bilbo was only just stepping towards a tree that he judged wouldn't be too difficult to climb when he heard some rustling, definitely moving towards him. He sighed raggedly, only hoping that it wasn't more elves coming to capture him because he certainly could not hide or run from _them_. He scaled the tree swiftly, up to about ten feet high, and waited, praying that he could not be seen.

As he waited he couldn't help but realise that the noises that whatever it was approaching him was too loud, too clumsy for elven feet. In fact, it didn't sound like feet at all, but like something was being dragged across the uneven ground. The hobbit nearly toppled from his perch when a group of rabbits emerged from the bushes, and skidded to a halt in the clearing.

A little incredulously, Bilbo watched as the Brown Wizard hopped off his sled, and shuffled to the base of a gnarled old tree on the opposite side of the clearing. Well, then. He certainly would have no trouble escaping Radagast the Brown. Otherwise he could just… slip on the ring… and disappear altogether --

Bilbo stopped that train of thought with a sharp shake of his head. No, he wouldn't use the ring again, if he could help it. Not after he found out what it _really_ was. He couldn't.

He watched the eccentric wizard putter around, muttering to himself and collecting this or that plant, occasionally exclaiming excitedly at what he'd found, and the hobbit sighed to himself. He'd have to rely on his silent feet then. Bilbo waited until he was sure Radagast was preoccupied with his plants when he dared to slowly stand up on the branch, and, clutching the trunk tightly, began to descend.

So far, so good, he told himself, focusing on getting to one branch to the next. The rabbits pulling Radagast's sled had noticed him, and were watching him curiously, their bright, dark eyes intelligent. Bilbo only prayed that they could not speak and notify the wizard of his presence - he did not want to be further delayed on his journey.

That was when the hobbit felt his foot catching on something sticky, and he looked down to find it tangled in a bit of spiderweb. He let out a panicked whimpering sound, unable to reach the next branch in time as he experienced a ridiculous feeling of deja vu. But there was nothing he could do as his fingers scrabbled for a hold on the tree trunk but could not get a good grip, and he very nearly rolled his eyes as he began to tip towards the ground.

It was not a particularly long fall, but he could not twist his body to a position that would cause him less pain. He landed on his side on the uneven ground over a bit of raised root, and his ribs burst with a dull, throbbing pain. The air whooshed out of his lungs, and he laid on the ground for a while, breathless and disoriented and in pain. Some moments later, he dimly noticed the large brown rabbits that were watching him earlier had shuffled around to hover over him awkwardly, still harnessed to the sled as they were. With a great effort, Bilbo pushed himself to a sitting position, and looked up.

He had forgotten that Radagast was also there, and Bilbo noted that the wizard was still standing where Bilbo had last seen him before he fell. He had only twisted around to watch the hobbit unsteadily get to his feet, still clutching the plants in his hands, his expression wary but also a little bit concerned.

"Um," Bilbo said very eloquently, for the second time.

 

 

The wizard had recognised him as a member of Thorin's Company, but luckily for Bilbo, did not seem suspicious when Bilbo told him that he was travelling back home alone. He took one look at the hobbit, and without even asking if Bilbo would like to or not, bundled him into the rabbit-pulled sled to take him to his home for a bit of tea that would help with Bilbo's side.

All Bilbo could think about was how much time he'd lose because of this detour.

And so Bilbo found himself inside this filthy little cottage, sipping hot, herbal tea that made his throbbing side bearable. He watched the Brown Wizard put his staff and the plants from the forest away before sitting down in front of Bilbo. Two little hedgehogs sniffed Bilbo's elbow on the table, and a couple of mice scurried about his feet, and all in all Bilbo was reminded of Beorn's house, if smaller, and less well-kept.

He sipped his tea again to avoid Radagast's scrutinizing gaze. He did not know if wizards had the ability to sense the presence of magic rings, but if they did, Gandalf would have found out and confronted him about it long ago, right?

Somehow that thought assured him little.

"Feeling better?" the wizard spoke suddenly, making poor Bilbo jump. One of the hedgehog scuttled over to Radagast's cupped palms, and settled there. The hobbit fixed his eyes on the little animal as he nodded, feeling not quite up to meeting the wizard's eyes just yet. Radagast hummed quietly, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful, and Bilbo fought not to fidget in his place and give himself away.

"Thank you for your, erm, help," Bilbo said, to break the silence. Radagast seemed content to just stare at him all day, as if he was a particularly interesting animal. "If you hadn't found me, I probably would be wandering around in circles all day."

The wizard hummed again. "Yes, the forest does that," he replied, and it sounded vaguely ominous to Bilbo. "How came you into Mirkwood? And where are the dwarves travelling with you? How could they have abandoned a little hobbit to make his way home alone?"

Bilbo scrunched his nose at that, feeling slightly offended. He may be alone and small, but he had faced down trolls and wargs and orcs. If he learnt anything from the journey to Erebor, it was that he was stronger than everyone - including himself - thought. He could defend himself well enough, thank you very much! He was just making a strategic retreat into the forest (which, of course, did not turn out to be very strategic at all).

"I beg your pardon, but I am capable of travelling alone, thank you!" he sniffed, and it did not seem to convince Radagast at all, only served to make the wizard amused. "And my companions, well, they have a kingdom to rebuild, don't they? I suppose they're busy, and I don't want to cause them too much trouble."

Radagast nodded in understanding at that. "I thought Gandalf would escort you, at the very least. Still, I guess you're right. Now that the mountain is filled with dwarves again everyone will be busy! Pity, though, that the king and his heirs died in that terrible battle."

He shook his head forlornly at that, his strange hat shaking from side to side in a comical way, but at the mention of Thorin, Bilbo froze. The terrible, aching feeling of missing the said dwarf he had managed to forget for a while returned, and he bit his lip to contain his grimace. He had, after all, gone on to this journey for Thorin and his nephews despite how much he wanted to stay in Erebor and watch them wake. It only reminded Bilbo of how crucial his mission was, and every that every second he spent here was a second wasted.

Despite its unfamiliar halls and cold, imposing stones, Bilbo longed to be back in Erebor, among those he called dear. He wanted to know if Thorin had meant all he had said in those last few precious moments, or if they were only words of a dying man. Bilbo did, after all, commit grave offence even if he did it to avoid war.

And after all he did, Thorin, Fili and Kili still died anyway. They had returned, but for such a high price, which may not need to be paid if Bilbo had not taken the Arkenstone in the first place.

So many what ifs and regrets, Bilbo thought morosely. It would do him no good if he continued to dwell on it - what was done was done. He could only finish this mission now, and hope for the best.

Bilbo shifted in his seat, clearing his throat to catch Radagast's attention. The eccentric old wizard had started to feed his hedgehog biscuit crumbs from his own plate, cooing and talking to it as if it understood Westron, but looked up with raised eyebrows towards Bilbo.

"Do you think you could, erm, point me towards the nearest edge of the forest?" Bilbo peeped. "I can find my own way once outside, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to need guidance to get out in the first place."

So Bilbo found himself following one of Radagast's large rabbits he had unharnessed off the sled just for the task. It would hop some distance away from Bilbo, then stop to wait for him, intelligent eyes gleaming in the limited light of the forest. He was glad Radagast wasn't guiding Bilbo out of the Mirkwood himself - he had been subjected to enough scrutiny for today, so it seemed to him.

Before they parted, the wizard had said that the rabbit would take Bilbo to the southern edge of the forest, where it would turn back and return. No more than three full days of walking, the wizard had promised, waving a hand dismissively at Bilbo's concern. He had also given Bilbo more water and biscuits for his journey (though Bilbo wasn't sure he'd ever eat the slightly moldy things), and bade him good luck.

"Oh, and Master Hobbit," Radagast called as Bilbo walked away. "Do be careful when dealing with magical artefacts, will you?"

Bilbo tried to walk away from the little cottage in as normal pace as he could, trying very hard not to run for he could feel Radagast's eyes boring to the back of his skull.

The ring was safe in his pocket, laying (mostly) undiscovered for another day.

It was evening by the time he reached the edge of the forest, perhaps even late into the night, for the sky was an inky dark blue sprinkled with stars and Bilbo was feeling the ache of the walk in his legs. It was also colder, now that the breeze could whisper between the sparser trees, and the hobbit shivered, drawing his cloak tighter about him.

He caught up to the rabbit, but this time it didn't hop away like it usually did. Instead it looked at Bilbo curiously, holding his gaze for a moment, before turning back and disappearing back into the darkness of Mirkwood. He was sorry to see it go, for all that it could not talk to him or anything. At least the rabbit meant some kind of company - now he was alone again.

Bilbo huffed, fixed the position of his pack on his shoulders, and walked on, deciding that just for tonight, he would make camp a little out in the open. He deserved that, at least.

 

 

It continued to snow, for the rest of the day. Snowflakes drifted to the ground lazily, and their breaths made fluffy clouds in the frosty air. Thorin's pony huffed and sneezed as she inhaled some snow, and distractedly he patted her neck soothingly, his eyes still scouring the edges of Mirkwood.

Here, in this pristine, snow-white and quiet environment, Thorin could almost forget the recent horrors he had faced. Everything else seemed so far away - the battle, the mountain and all its treasure, and all the discord he undoubtedly left behind for Balin and Dain to take care of. They seemed like a part of another world - if only he could forget why he was here in the first place.

After telling them of all that happened between her and Bilbo, the elf had insisted she come with them, burdened by the guilt that she had let him go. Thorin was a little furious at her that she did, but he could not deny that her skills would be needed if they wanted to track down Bilbo as quick as possible. Apparently she was part of a group sent out to find the hobbit, but they were never told why Bilbo needed to be found. When Gandalf asked if Thranduil would banish her again for coming with them instead of reporting back to him, she smiled faintly and shook her head.

"He would not," she said, the hand on Kili's shoulder tightening imperceptibly. "Besides, I am still searching for Master Baggins, am I not? I am still following his orders."

And Kili was so happy to have her near, that he did not raise the matter further. She rode behind him on his pony now, her head bent to Kili's level and talking to him quietly.

The sight sent a pang to Thorin's chest, an ache he could not reason why. Kili whispered something to her, and made her laugh, her voice like chiming bells. Thorin turned his gaze forward again, resolutely ignoring the strange yearning he felt. All he needed to focus on right now was finding Bilbo - say his apologies, if Bilbo would hear them. He had so many things to make right. Although the fact that Bilbo would trek all the way to Mordor itself for him and his nephews might mean that Bilbo was not as angry at him as Thorin thought.

It was small comfort, but Thorin kept that thought close to his heart, praying that he would make it to Bilbo in time.

He had to.

 

 

Bilbo woke up the next day to the smell of something delicious. Meat, cooking over an open fire; perhaps venison, or rabbit. In that place between sleep and wakefulness, the scent of the food, coupled with the clean, fresh air of the morning tricked him into thinking that perhaps he was back in Bag-End, the smell of his mother cooking breakfast drifting into his room and its open window.

He expected to wake to the ceiling of his bedroom, which was strange because he hadn't even dreamed of home in a good long while. But then Bilbo registered the lumpy bedroll under him, and the fresh morning air turned freezing as he properly woke up, and with a jolt he snapped his eyes open.

He was still beneath the canopy of the outermost trees of Mirkwood that he had made camp under last night, and none of his belongings seemed to have been disturbed, as far as he could tell. But he caught the sound of soft conversation a little way away, and the hobbit froze, fear paralyzing him.

Men, by the sound of it. They seemed to be speaking in Westron, from what he could hear. Not those of Esgaroth, surely? The closest dwelling of men that he knew of from his maps was the kingdom of Rohan, but what were men doing in these parts, anyway? Were they dangerous? Were they even aware that Bilbo was close by?

Slowly and quietly, Bilbo got up, lamenting over the fact that probably he would not be able to take all his belongings. It would simply be too loud to pack everything in, and he could not risk them finding out his presence if they weren't aware of it before. He carefully strapped Sting to his waist and was just about to roll up his bedroll when a voice spoke up.

"Awake already, Master Hobbit?" the voice called. It was slightly familiar, but not enough that he could immediately discern to whom it belonged to. The rest of the muted conversation halted, and Bilbo cursed his luck. If they knew he was a hobbit, then they must have came upon him before this. It was only small comfort that they had left him alone.

But nobody came through the trees, and Bilbo thought that perhaps, if he was quick enough, he could make a run for it.

"Come, join us for breakfast. We have some venison, amongst other meat," the voice called out again, and as if it understood, his stomach grumbled loudly. Bilbo sighed; he knew a losing battle when he saw one. Besides, he was curious about the owner of the voice, and where he had heard it before.

Warily, he stepped towards where the smell of the cooking came from. The conversation had picked up again, clearly signaling that they did not consider him much of a threat. Bilbo stopped a few feet from the circle of men, separated only by a few trees between them. From what he could make out, there were about half a dozen of them, sitting and smoking their pipes around the fire. The lovely smell of the meat was still wafting lazily in the breeze, and Bilbo's stomach gave another unhappy rumble.

But the hobbit was still rather suspicious towards the group of men, and a little afraid about joining them. He could still run away; from the way the voice from earlier spoke, it seemed like they would not chase him down if he did. However, the choice was made for him when a figure from around the fire stood up, and headed towards him, stopping at the edge of the circle to lean against a tree trunk.

He smiled kindly, and Bilbo realised with a shock that it was Thranduil's son, the prince of Mirkwood. The elf did not seem particularly dangerous or threatening at the moment, but Bilbo knew that should he decide to take Bilbo back to Thranduil by force, there wouldn't be a thing the hobbit could do.

"Strange that your companions would leave you to travel back home alone. The road is still dangerous, even if we did kill most of the orcs during the Battle of the Five Armies," he said, frowning a little as he studied Bilbo curiously. His posture was relaxed, arms crossed in front of his chest, but Bilbo still felt very tense, ready to flee at the first sign of danger. "At least, that's where I assumed you were going, now that Erebor is retaken and all. You made the right choice to travel around the forest, though."

Bilbo felt annoyed that the elf presumed that his friends had abandoned him. His dwarves were more honourable than that! Elf-prince or no, Bilbo was going to make sure that he understood that.

"I left of my own accord, actually," Bilbo said, a little more sharply than he had intended. "The dwarves have a kingdom to rebuild and I can't - I can't stay any longer. I had to go."

Bilbo had meant the Ring when he said he had to go, that he had to go take it to Mordor immediately. He assumed that the Elvenking had also sent his son to find Bilbo, and that he knew about Bilbo's _agreement_ with the owner of the Ring. The Captain might not know about it, but Thranduil must have told his own son, right? He was resigned to the fact that he would probably be taken to the Elvenking's halls now as prisoner, and fail in his mission.

But when Bilbo looked up, there was only pity and understanding in the elf's eyes, as well as deep, profound sadness that older elves would only very rarely show. The young prince bowed his head, and spoke softly.

"I, too, understand your loss, Master Hobbit. It is why I could not return to with my father to our kingdom," he murmured, catching Bilbo by surprise. So maybe he did _not_ know about the Durins' return after all? The hobbit was still reeling with surprise and questions about whom the elf had lost in the battle, but the prince had looked up again, his expression lighter this time. "But come, let us eat, and forget our grief for the moment."

Now that Bilbo was reminded of the food, and knowing that the elf did not seek to capture him, he was less wary of the prince, and he stepped forward some more. "Oh but I don't want to impose, er, your highness," Bilbo said, his hobbit sensibilities taking over despite the fact that he was most definitely hungry and eager for some food.

"Please, do call me Legolas," the prince said, pushing himself off the tree trunk and smiling warmly at him. Seeming to sense Bilbo's hesitance, he added, "Do not worry. These Men are with me; they are the Dunedain - honourable Men, and they will not harm you. You are among friends."

Assured by Legolas' words, Bilbo marched forward more confidently, and the elf led him into the clearing where he and his companions had set up camp.

 

 

The corridor, with the warm amber light at one end again.

It beckoned to him, as it did before. Filled his heart with longing so great he felt he would burst. Thorin _swore_ he could hear his mother's laughter, whose face and memories of were so vague and sketchy it was like trying to see through a murky water. He wondered if his mind had the memories up, or if they truly happened, so long ago was the last time he saw her. She was young when she died, fiery and beautiful and so, so loving. Those were the only impressions Thorin was certain was real.

He needed to see her again. And this time, they could be together forever, along with his brother and their father, and they would wait for Dis to come and join them sometime in the distant future, or so Thorin hoped. Their family would be one again.

Thorin heard songs too - faint melodies and tunes that he heard in the halls of Erebor from a time before it fell, songs that he never heard again but now unlocked torrents of memories of his youth. How carefree he was, back in those days, when his biggest worry was to not make an embarrassment of himself in front of the Court and his people, and to keep his siblings out of trouble.

He stepped towards the light almost subconsciously, his body delivering him to what his heart longed for. Each step felt liberating, and he registered that this time, there was nothing weighing him down and dragging him back to the darkness.

The realisation made him speed up, steps quickening, until he was almost running. Thorin's face burst into a grin as the sound of music and boisterous laughter grew louder, and this time, he truly believed he could reach it. But just as he was about to speed up some more, intent on running towards and crashing into his destination --

Hands closed over his elbow, small hands. Thorin halted, a gasp caught in his throat. The hands moved to clasp over his palms, warm and soft and entirely too familiar. They held him without any pressure or force, but he could not make himself move, every muscle in his body frozen in place as those fingers intertwined with his. He should not look back - he was so close, _so close_ to seeing his family again.

"Don't go," Bilbo whispered from behind him, voice cracking, and Thorin felt the hobbit's hands tremble in his, like it did those last few moments before his death.

Just like that Thorin felt his resolve collapse, all the longing for his family crumbling under the weight of regret and guilt and, strangely enough, yearning for Bilbo that was different yet no less strong than what he felt for his family. Because Bilbo was the single, greatest regret Thorin had left the world with. So many wrongs and cruel words he had imparted upon the hobbit, that he wished to make right.

And so many other words he wished he could say to Bilbo; soft, tender words to be said over many years. Words he had held back, during their last conversation, for it would be even more cruel to burden Bilbo with them when Thorin was dying.

Bilbo's hand tightened in his.

"Please, Thorin, don't go."

It was such a _Bilbo_ thing to say, even if Thorin could not be sure why the hobbit would want him to stay, after all the despicable things he had said and done to him. He could not help but look back. The hobbit was standing there, the way Thorin saw him last, covered in blood and dirt and grime of the battle. He was silent and still, but the tightness around his eyes betrayed his anguish and grief.

Somewhere at the back of his mind Thorin knew that this was not real, perhaps a dream, for in real life he would not have the courage to do what he did next, or think himself worthy of it.

He leaned down, and pressed his forehead to Bilbo's for a long moment. One of Bilbo's hands stayed in his grip, but the other moved to Thorin's chest to clutch the fabric of his tunic. The hobbit's shaky breaths evened, and Thorin breathed deeply, savoring this little moment of peace. The merriment and songs were still going on behind him, the golden heat of the Halls of Waiting pulsing like a living thing, but Thorin barely felt it now.

Then the moment passed, and he drew back, raising a hand to tuck a stray curl behind Bilbo's ear. The hobbit smiled, squeezing his hand comfortingly.

And Thorin allowed himself to be led towards the darkness.

He woke slowly, in a way he hadn't in a long time. He was lying on the ground, in the camp the company had set up at the edges of Mirkwood. The air was crisp and fresh, his travelling companions also waking and readying for the day, and Thorin's hands by his sides closed over empty air. The sounds and music of the afterlife from his dream drifted into wakefulness with him, but caught in that strange in-between place as he was, the first name he called for was not any of his deceased family's.


End file.
